


Tactician's Truth

by Tormented_Gale



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Fire Emblem: Awakening Spoilers, Gen, Panic Attacks, Pre-End Game, male robin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-12 10:16:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12957093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tormented_Gale/pseuds/Tormented_Gale
Summary: Robin knows, at the end of it all, he cannot keep his promise.





	Tactician's Truth

How many times has he thought of just cutting the cursed thing off? Even now as he sits outside of his tent, studying the last set of strategies he’d used, it is in the back of his mind, like a burr stuck to his coat. His eyes inevitably drift to the mark so obvious on his right hand, a mark he knows he can cover up with his gloves or leather gauntlets and yet doesn’t. Today he instead flexes his fingers and holds his hand up as if to steal the glistening, setting sun in the distance.

He knows what he will do when the time comes. Naga’s words ring loudly in his ears, their ethereal message a welcome, warm thing instead of the grisly warning intended. She has given him, given  _ them _ , hope, a hope that will not be easily destroyed. The hope is indeed thin, and so young, but it is hope they have not had since learning of the Felldragon’s rise. He lowers his hand and sees for once not a curse, but a blessing borne by flesh and bone.

It will cost him so little compared to the greater cost of those who have already sacrificed so much. His book and quill forgotten beside him, Robin looks to the fields they have chosen to rest in tonight in preparation for the battles to come. It is a rare moment of peace that they have found here. 

Lissa and Frederick, her stalwart protector even though she can wield both staff and ax as well as any fighter, sit and simply talk, surrounded by flowers and the gentle, distant fall of a waterfall. Others, those he knows each and every name of, spar or prepare dinner or tend to the fire, or look out for the Grimleal inevitable to find them. Cordelia brushes her pegasus with a fond smile on her lips, and near her, her son follows suit, scrubbing among his dragon’s scales. Parents and children spend time the current future will never allow for, joy covering fear and concern so palpable it is practically tangible.

This is the future he wants for them all. He wants this to be the norm, for all of them to just find happiness together, and he knows his decision will hurt them, but it will also save them. The promise he made not long ago hangs heavy in his chest, as real a weight as a chain; he will break that promise. He cannot tell a living soul that, but he will break it, and he will smile when he stops existing.

“If you continue to think so hard, your face will freeze like that,” a deep voice tells him from somewhere above. Robin blinks the warm haze from his eyes and looks up at the comforting face of Chrom. Today his blue hair hangs loosely and messily, recently washed in the nearby stream. It is an advantage many of them take - a chance to bathe is not something to be passed on.

Robin visibly forces himself to relax, but it is a difficult thing when so much weighs on his shoulders. He thinks he should be terrified, or angry, and while those emotions are certainly there, they are overwhelmed with the sense of peace and acceptance he has already come to terms with. It is not like when he learned of what his future self, a self that exists still within him in some capacity, was capable of, and what he did. Now, he does not hate the person who stares back from the watery depths or the shard of mirror. It is  _ because  _ they share the same soul, the same markings, that he will succeed in saving the others, in saving this beautiful, flawed world.

“You’re still doing it.” Chrom sits beside him, a welcome comrade, and leans back against a crate. The tent flap snaps softly behind them in the wind before the whole world settles. Robin sighs, closing his eyes and letting the breeze caress his skin, fly through his hair, soothe him in the way that only nature can.

“Apologies, Chrom - I cannot help but plan, you know that.” It is not what preoccupies his thoughts, but if Chrom notices he does not mention it. Instead, he huffs softly and shakes his head.

“Thinking about something other than battle tactics is good for the body and soul, you know,” Chrom comments. It is with fond exasperation, and not an uncommon topic. Robin chuckles.

“And yet it has saved all of our hides more times than you care to admit,” Robin says. Chrom nods his head in acknowledgement.

“Fair point,” he admits. Robin feels Chrom’s gaze watching him, too observant for their own good, and the smile Robin offers is almost real when he opens his eyes.

They both sit there for what feels like an eternity; in some ways, it is. Robin has seen more than his fair share of what this world is and was and will be in the short time he can recall. His memories, once scrambled as they were before waking to a firm, strong hand pulling him to his feet, are now filled with joy and companionship. He relaxes his shoulders and sighs. Yes, it has been a good life, if a short one.

“The final battle to come,” Chrom says, his voice serious and low, “will test you on every skill you’ve ever learned, every tactic you have thought of.”

The smile slips from Robin’s face even as he stares on ahead, refusing to meet Chrom’s knowing gaze.

“I trust you,” Chrom says. “I trust you with my life and those of our companions. I know since… learning certain things, you have been distant with some of us. I want you to know you are our friend, our family, and no matter what that will not change.”

Robin feels his eyes burn and tries to hold back the wave of unexpected emotion hitting him. He has seen the way some of the others look at him now, some with doubt, others with straight up distrust. Their companions who have known him since early on have no concerns about him and have snapped more than once on his behalf, but… he knows it cannot or will not change how these others feel.

“I… I am grateful, Chrom,” he says and hears his voice crack. He grits his teeth, the grinding noise reaching his ears, and feels a gentle hand on his shoulder. In the near distance, laughter bubbles up from Lucina and Morgan, and something tight and terrible squeezes inside of his chest.

Instantly Chrom is closer, an arm sliding around Robin’s shoulders, and a voice quietly asking if he is alright whispers in his ear, but Robin is not. He is not alright. He does not know if he has ever been truly alright. In this moment, with a warm arm around him and a close friend at his side, he curls up as tightly as he can, his hood falling to hide him from the world. He buries his face in his hands, his body trembling, and Chrom holds him closer as each breath see-saws in and out of him.

“Breathe with me,” Chrom murmurs. “Come on now, just one breath. In... out...”

Robin tries, he truly does, but black spots dance at the corners of his vision, and he gasps too quickly to really be called breaths. The soothing voice in his ear remains calm and steady, the weight of the arm increasing until it is pressing Robin into his knees, and he feels Chrom’s head lean against his.

“Breathe, Robin, it’s alright.”

Finally, something deeper than the stuttering staccato notes he was releasing falls from his lips, and Robin shudders violently under Chrom’s watch. He hears footsteps not far away, coming towards them, and his breathing quickens again, but they soon retreat. Chrom likely sent them away; Robin lets out a quiet sob he hopes isn’t audible at the thought of kindness Chrom offers him when only weeks ago Chrom lay in a sick bed, his side run through with raw magic from Robin’s own hand.

The peace of the day is gone, replaced only by the breaths he tries to take in with more regulation. Chrom softly hums to him, a lullaby, and Robin slowly, slowly relaxes and leans heavily into the swordsman. His eyes are shut, tears trapped behind eyelids, and he hears Chrom’s song peter out until there is naught but the sounds of others further out and their breathing. Robin wipes at his cheeks, hoping they’re not so red, and feels Chrom grip him a little closer.

“I’m sorry, Chrom - I don’t know what came over me,” he says softly and tries for a cheery voice. It sounds miserable and exhausted instead.

“Never apologize for something like this,” Chrom admonishes. “Do you think none of the men and women here have expressed tears?”

“It isn’t exactly good for morale."

“They would rather see you prepared, and if preparing yourself is facing some of your inner demons, then they are proud of you for doing so. As am I.”

Robin pulls away from the embrace and pushes his hood back. Chrom’s hand lingers for a few moments more before they are once again separate and Robin feels his loss like a blade to the heart. Yet he sits up a little straighter, breathes as easily as he can, and his shoulders relax marginally.

“You put too much pressure on yourself,” Chrom says and Robin knows the swordsman is sliding his hand through his hair, the blue strands parting around calloused fingers. “You always have, from the day I met you.”

“All of this… all of  _ you  _ are worth it,” Robin says definitively. “None of you deserve the pains you have felt...“ And they’d truly been caused by him. True, an alternate, destruction-bent version of himself, but him regardless. It too weighed on him, on his shared soul.

He leans his arms on his still drawn up knees and rests his forehead there. A part of him wishes he could simply go to Grima, kill the dragon, and be done with all of this, but he knows he would die before he even got close. When it came to the final blow, though… he would have to be the one up front, facing down an aspect of himself simmering just below the surface.

“You should rest, Robin,” Chrom says quietly.

Unfurling, Robin rises to his feet unaided and takes one more look over the field. He smiles to himself, this one just as honest and heartbroken as any he is capable of, and sees once again why he has made his choice, and why he feels pain at all. If he truly were Grima, he would not care one way or the other if these people died. He cares, and cares so much, wishing he could keep even the pain of the battle on the morrow from them.

“Yes,” he agrees. He pauses to lay his hand on Chrom’s shoulder and squeezes, wondering briefly what it would be like to always be tangled with Chrom’s hand even if it will never be. Chrom’s brow furrows, but Robin pulls away before their commander can ask. Ducking into the tent, Robin avoids everyone by closing the tent flap and securing it with its ties. He sits down near his books, his pack pushed off to the side. His quill lays next to his ink pot, other supplies organized neatly nearby.

He pulls one of the journals, a chronicle of his new memory, into his lap and dips his quill in the pot. When he writes, it is only a little shaky, but it is fully legible.

_ When I die tomorrow, I hope I get to witness Grima fall before me, and I with him. I hope I see my friends happy, living on when it is so damn hard to. I hope they do not give up on the lives they dream of. And most of all, I hope I do not forget Chrom’s smile, Lissa’s pranks, Fredrick’s support, Lucina’s gentle words. I do not want to lose them. If I regret anything about this decision, it is that I will never see them again. I will never know a life outside of battle and bloodshed. _

_ So I will not write “I’m sorry” here, Chrom, my friends… no, my family. I will not write “Goodbye” or “I love you” either. I will say only “I wish you all well.” _

_ With that said: _

_ To my friends, to Chrom: _

_ I wish you all well. _


End file.
